A Military Thing
by Romula
Summary: He calls her "Carter," and she calls him "Sir." S/J


A Military Thing  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Spoilers: "Children of the Gods," "Beneath the Surface."  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Borrowing. Will put them back where I found them -- in denial.  
  
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I like being off-world. It's not like there's really that much to do back on Earth. And it's always fun watching the stars in an alien sky. Carter likes it too. When we aren't fighting, escaping, rescuing or just too damn tired, we lie awake in the dark and make up stories about our constellations. I call her "Carter," and she calls me "Sir."  
  
It's a military thing, I guess. Girls and boys trying to get along in what, until recently, was *the* boys' club. It's impossible for everyone to be equal when day-to-day life revolves around a strict chain of command, but it gets a hell of a lot more confusing when you add in the question of gender. There are plenty of ranking female officers who order their subordinates to address them as "Sir" rather than "Ma'am." Most people won't admit it, but you have to be "Sir" to get the real respect.  
  
Which is why I wasn't really that surprised when I found out that "Sam" Carter was Samantha Carter; Sam's a nice, neutral name, not particularly male or female. I was more than a little chagrined to find this unknown female assigned to my team, but the name -- Kawalsky got a much bigger laugh out of it than I did.  
  
It's also why I *don't* call her Sam. Not normally. She's always just Carter. It's not the name of a man or a woman, it's just the name of an officer I serve with. My second in command. In the military everyone is a surname. It's safe.  
  
Or it used to be. It's been getting more dangerous lately.  
  
I used to be able to think about Carter in terms of the team. Carter, Maj. Dr. Samantha. Prefers to be called Sam. Prefers to be addressed by rank rather than salutation. Theoretical astrophysicist. Assigned to SG-1. Good soldier. Good scientist. Generally good human being.  
  
But lately . . .  
  
I can't imagine calling her anything else. When we're going over a mission plan, when I drop by her lab, when we're eating Jell-O, she's Carter. In my head, she's Carter. She was Sam at first. For a while after that mirror thing she was Samantha. That was the difference. In reality, she was Carter, and it was easy to call her that and forget that she's, well, *she.*  
  
Then something changed. Now when I hold her, kiss her, touch her, when her name is torn from my throat in the night . . . now she's always Carter. Now there is no difference.  
  
When we're off-world, spending another night under another sky that looks just like ours if I don't search for familiar stars, when we aren't on Earth, that's when it gets bad. At the SGC there are other officers. There are people in uniforms. The whole damn installation screams military. Even the recreation areas have concrete walls; the regulations might as well be carved into them. But off-world, there's just SG-1. And yeah, we're dressed like soldiers. But Daniel's a civilian, and strictly speaking, so is Teal'c. Off-world, it's just me and her and the regs. And when there's no concrete and metal and people saluting you to remind you about regulations, it's easier to forget about them.  
  
She never slips, of course. Never once calls me "Jack." It's always "Colonel," or the old standard, "Sir." I hated that word for a long time. It was everything that was wrong with the universe. It was there the first time she refused a fishing invitation, and every time after that, and each time I would go up to the cabin and brood by a pond with no fish, thinking that if it weren't for that word, she'd be there with me. God it was hard to give up being Jonah, to go back to the polite and dutiful respect my rank entitles me to.  
  
Then something changed, and it wasn't hard anymore.  
  
Right about the time "Carter" became a term of endearment instead of an attempt at distance, so did "Sir." God knows she uses it enough for it to be my name, but now and then her voice'll get very quiet, and her eyes'll get very wide, and she'll just say "Sir," and the only thing I can do is look at her. I need her in the most cliched ways possible, and I can't even touch her, not now. A year ago I could have thrown my arm around her shoulder and we would have just been buddies. But it's too complicated now. All we can do is lie awake in the dark, watching the stars. I call her "Carter," and she calls me "Sir."  
  
FIN  
  
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Author's Note: I grew up a military brat, and I've seen female officers treated differently depending on whether they are addressed as "Ma'am" or "Sir." [Insert long psychological ramble about power assertion and gender bias.] However, I do not wish to imply that it is a widespread problem, or even that an undue number of service men and women have been affected by such attitudes. I have merely observed the behavior and think it relevant to an understanding of Samantha Carter. 


End file.
